"The swinging gate formation that's done before the kicking team does their thing is probably the dumbest on-field move I have ever seen. It's just stupid."

This proclamation is uttered by Michelle, my long-time gal pal who is currently stretched out on my sofa watching Virginia Tech vs. Georgia Tech on ESPN. I'm sitting on the rug below her, back against the couch.

"Just look at it," she says between swigs of beer, "they line up on the left, get in formation, wait a few seconds, and then move over into the normal extra point position. Oooh, you really fooled the defense with that one. Idiots." She follows that with a mini-rant on how every quarterback in college is playing the three-step drop, so much so that they've forgotten how to scramble outside the box and improvise when a play isn't there.

"You know, if offensive coordinators would stay put at a school and not be on such a short leash, maybe they could get a set style in place for their QBs to learn," I say. "But with the turnover being so quick and nobody keeping around their staff for long..."

"Yeah," she replies, taking another swig, "but even so, look at Virginia Tech. They throw the ball, they've done it for years. Their quarterbacks know how to run, too. So are you telling me that since they've switched conferences from the Big East to the ACC, Bryan Randall has totally lost his composure? Pfft."

Michelle is a sports nut to the nth power. You will likely have to change the topic away from sports because she won't. That's how long she'll go on about sports and athletes. That's what I love about her. It's one of the many things I love about her. She lives nearby and doesn't keep the same hectic calendar as I, so whenever I want to get together she's generally open. She's always a help in getting women to notice me, since having a woman by your side is the best way short of shining a spotlight on yourself to get another woman's attention. Michelle is easy going, unassuming, and isn't easily insulted. Well, most of the time. The most trying situation in our relationship came one night, not unlike this one, when we were watching a Dodgers game, flicking popcorn into each other's mouths, and downing beers. That's when an ugly topic reared its head.

"Hey, considering the amount of time we've spent together over the past few years and how well we get along, why do you think it is we've never hooked up or dated - you know, that sort of thing."

"You getting all deep on me, Michelle? The Dodgers are on for Christ's sake," I replied, throwing a few kernels in her general direction.

"No, I'm serious Reed, I've seen some of the floozies you've been out with." I feign a hurt look and she throws some popcorn back at me. "I think you and I have had a real strong friendship and I just started thinking about why it never went anywhere, that's all."

"Umm, okay."

We go back to the game for a minute or so. Then she starts again after Shawn Green flies out. "You're not gonna give me an answer?"

"Oh, you're still on that. Well, I think it's because we have been close friends that we haven't dated. I don't date people I am friends with first."

"Really - ever?" she asks.

"Yeah, pretty much. I tend to become friends with them after the dating has ensued. And..." I gulp and decide to finally throw myself upon the fire, "I feel the reason we've had such a strong friendship is because I don't have any sexual attraction to you. So there's none of that sexual tension getting in the way as a result."

She looked like I had just shot her in the chest. She sat up, sort of in a daze, the blood rushing from her head, and started fanning her face as if she were on the verge of tears. Crap, she's gonna cry. Why didn't I just dance around the topic? Why didn't I give her a "yeah, a date, maybe we can try that sometime?"

"No...attraction...at all?" she slowly asked. "Not one bit? Ever? Oh my god, oh my god," she says, getting up.

"You don't understand where I'm coming from Michelle. You don't understand what a good thing that is," I urge.

"A good thing?! You don't think I'm pretty, and that's a GOOD thing?" I see her start to wipe aside a tear. Great.

"That's not what I said. You ARE pretty, but I am not attracted to you. There's a difference."

"That's no difference! A pretty woman is an attractive woman. I've seen the women you date; some I look better than, and some I don't. But if you're attracted to the ones I look better than and not me..." she trails off.

"You are going to make some guy very, very happy. I mean, you're a great girl. Who wouldn't like you? Well, anway. But look - you're fun, fun to be with, your sports knowledge will likely intimidate some guys, but no bullshit - you're a catch."

Between stifled sniffs, Michelle remarks, "maybe, but to you I'm not."

"You wanted an honest answer, and I'm sorry, but you got it." I was sorry indeed. I shattered a need many women operate on: The need to always feel desirable. Women always want to be desired by men, even if not overtly. That's why it's so hard for a woman and man to be friends, because even if there is no stated attraction, it's still implicit. There's always the undercurrent of sex if the woman senses she's being desired, even in the slightest way. Take desirability out of the equation and then the relationship can truly exist on platonic terms. That's why it's great for a guy to have lesbians as friends. It's really the only way sex will never enter the equation. But I am not gonna tell Michelle this - she'll just think I'm calling her a lesbian.

"So then what, I'm just supposed to accept that and everything goes back to normal?" she asks.

"No, I don't expect it to roll right off and you're fine with everything ten minutes from now. But know this: I really value what we've got. That's not a line. I like hanging out with you because I don't have to go through the posturing and gender bullshit I do when I'm out with the guys, or on a date, or in an intimate situation. And we can bounce ideas and thoughts off each other without fear of what the other will think. All of that would be ruined if we were to date in my opinion. The dynamic would change. And if we broke up I don't think we could go on being friends. That's how important the friendship is to me. I won't run the risk of ruining it. Is that making things clearer?"

Michelle has stopped crying and is back on the couch. "Yes, a little bit. You think of me in that way?"

"I'll let you in on a secret that I shouldn't even be sharing, because it will reveal how little I think of most women, but I rank you very high on my list because of your worth as a friend. Look at it this way - we're walking in the mall, and I point out a woman who stands out for whatever reason, be it good or bad, and put the question to you: 'What's up with her?' Anybody else would go superbitch on me: 'Her, why are you looking at her? What's so special about her?' You don't act that way. You're normal. You're grounded. That's what I dig."

We got past that speedbump, and before long things returned to normal, as evidenced by tonight's college football fun. I looked Michelle over as she sat on the couch, eyes firmly locked on every second of action emanating from the TV. Auburn brown hair that came down in short bangs over the eyes, tied in back in ponytail fashion, snaking down just past her shoulders. Michelle had a natural beauty, the kind that didn't require much make-up or gussying up when on the town. Body's in great shape too, teetering somewhere between normal and athletic. She turns heads in public, that's for sure, but she's a bit backwards when it comes to being sociable. She can be introverted. Doesn't like to go out much. Doesn't like the meat markets. Prefers the dimly-lit, out-of-the-way places instead. I nod slightly agreeing with myself that she will indeed make some guy very happy. And when Michelle meets The One, hopefully he won't read anything into the relationship she and I have. She'll put his mind at ease. That is if she doesn't forget I exist entirely once The One arrives. Chicks have a way of tossing their friends by the wayside once they begin wrapping themselves in a romantic relationship.

Michelle breaks my train of thought by throwing a kernal across my bow. "What'cha so deep in thought about?"

"Nothing, and do you think these kernals are going to clean themelves off the floor?"

"That's what you have the dog for, silly. Sophia!! Come here girl!" she shouts. Sophia comes bounding in from the bedroom where she was likely sleeping, and gets right in Michelle's face, sniffing the scents coming from what the dog surely thinks is a strange woman who doesn't show up that often around here. When she senses everything is cool and I'm in no danger, Sophia begins hunting around the room for popcorn gone astray.

"See," says Michelle, pointing in the general direction of the dog, "told ya so." Switching gears, she asks, "So what Halloween party are you hitting this weekend?"

"I'm going to Cross's thing. Taking somebody from work - I think we're going as his & her cheesy 70s porn stars."

"Cool!" she responds, then "Aww, damn you Va Tech!!" back at the TV. "Somebody from work? You don't date people from work."

"Right. And it's not a date. She didn't want to be alone on Halloween so she attached herself to me in leech-like fashion and begged to tag along."

"Hmm, be careful of that one. Some parasites can overpower their hosts, and before you know it she'll be telling everybody it's a date. She'll even have you believing it."

"Thanks for the concern," I tell her, "but I'm a big boy. I'll be fine." I snicker quickly under my breath at the thought of Melinda being a parasite attached to my leg. Michelle hasn't even met her and she's already got Mel pretty well pegged.
"What have you got that night? You should come along."

"Oh goodie, be the fifth wheel? Thanks, but no," she replies. "Besides, then you'd have two women with you thinking they're on dates." She sticks out her tongue in teasing fashion.

"Pss-shaw," I reply dryly. "My beer is empty. Want another?" I ask, standing as I try to message life back into my left leg which has fallen asleep.

"Not yet, I'm slowing down. Hey, let me ask you something else: Remember that time I was here during the baseball game when you said the reason we're friends is because you're not attracted to me, remember that?"

I crane my neck around the door from the kitchen. "Oh god," I groan, "are we gonna re-live that?"

"Don't worry, it's cool. I just want to know, do you have any women you use strictly as booty calls?"

"Uh, yeah, but I don't go to them very often," I reply.

"Them? Them?" she repeats. "You have more than one?"

"They come to me, I go to them when necessary. What's the point?" I ask as I come back from the kitchen with a fresh beer.

"I'm just curious if you need to be attracted to them for you to consider using them as a booty call," she says.

As much as Michelle says she's past our little squabble over attraction and desirability, I'm not so sure. "If I'm not attracted to her, if I don't find her hot, then I can't do anything sexual with her. I don't just stick it in anything."

"Hmm," Michelle slowly responds.

"Yeah? How about you?" I question.

"I don't do booty calls, mister," she says. Then she pauses and gets a big shit-eating grin on her face. "I do one-night stands!" she proclaims, holding up her arms in that pose the Pope makes when in public, the one that looks like he's revealing the size of his cock.

"I don't think either is something to be proud of," I say. I throw what's left of the unpopped kernals at the bottom of the bowl in her face, and in an instant Sophia is there to clean up what's fallen to the ground.

Looking at the dog, Michelle says "I think your dog has it right. Everything would be so much easier as a dog. No flirting, no heart-wrenching love issues, no lust, no finding a perfect someone, no desire." She looks up and repeats it. "No desire."

"Yeah," I reply, and pointing at the TV, "and no getting unhinged over the swinging gate."